Darling Sweetheart

by Stephen Price

  Darling Sweetheart

  STEPHEN PRICE worked as a producer for nearly two decades in radio and television. He started at the BBC but when he ended up on Irish commercial radio as one half of the short-lived but infamous Navan Man comedy duo, he realised he’d gone as far as he could in broadcasting and quit. He is now a Sunday Times columnist and writes on environmental matters for the Sunday Business Post. His bestselling debut novel, Monkey Man, was published to critical acclaim in 2005 by New Island. He followed this up with the equally successful Christmas Club in November 2006, also published by New Island. He lives in Portstewart, Northern Ireland, with his partner and two children.

  Praise for The Christmas Club

  ‘An enthralling read with a refreshingly original plot. It is fiction lightly peppered with real events … a powerful, poignant paean to the bittersweet nature of friendships’ Sunday Independent

  ‘An enjoyable tale … well written and leaves several imprints you’ll still be pondering over a week later’ RTÉ Guide

  ‘His writing is stylish and has a natural panache that pushes things forward … an intriguing book … with an assured and vivid style’ Sunday Business Post

  ‘This writer demonstrates a knack for mystery that is reminiscent of Agatha Christie … readers will be gripped’ Metro

  ‘One of the best Irish novels of the year’ Irish Farmers Journal

  ‘Think the British TV series This Life crossed with A.S. Byatt’s Possession and you’ll get the drift of this novel … the author’s wit, acerbic commentary and descriptive powers make it an absorbing and sometimes poignant experience … highly recommended’ Tuam Herald

  Praise for Monkey Man

  ‘Riotously entertaining’ Fintan O’Toole

  ‘ There are two reasons for thanking Stephen Price. He gets dug into the Dublin media with a viciousness rarely seen in Irish ficton. And he does it with great style’ Roddy Doyle

  ‘A riot … the scenes and character portraits are uncannily accurate’ The Last Word, Today FM

  ‘The high octane story of a producer’s descent into drugs, debauchery and depression’ The Sunday Times

  ‘Terrifically funny no-holds-barred swipe at the media’s petty pretensions and craven obeisance to the powerful’ The Irish Times

  ‘A slick, clever novel that makes you laugh out loud, full of sharp observations, smart dialogue and brilliant characters’ Colm Tóibín

  Darling

  Sweetheart

  Stephen Price

  NEW

  ISLAND

  DARLING SWEETHEART

  First published 2009

  by New Island

  2 Brookside

  Dundrum Road

  Dublin 14

  www.newisland.ie

  Copyright © Stephen Price, 2009

  The author has asserted his moral rights.

  ISBN 978-1-84840-029-0

  All rights reserved. The material in this publication is protected by copyright law. Except as may be permitted by law, no part of the material may be reproduced (including by storage in a retrieval system) or transmitted in any form or by any means; adapted; rented or lent without the written permission of the copyright owner.

  British Library Cataloguing Data. A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  New Island received financial assistance from The Arts Council (An Comhairle Ealaíon), Dublin Ireland

  Book design by Mary Byrne

  Printed by

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  To Evie for the title, to Grace for the dark matter…

  Call me darling, call me sweetheart,

  call me dear,

  Thrill me darling with

  the words I want to hear,

  In your dark eyes, so smiling,

  a promise I see,

  But your two lips won’t

  say you care for me.

  Oh my darling if my

  daydreams would come true,

  You would meet me at a secret rendezvous;

  And I’d find the paradise

  that lies deep in your eyes,

  Call me darling, call me sweetheart,

  call me dear.

  ‘Call Me Darling, Call Me Sweetheart, Call Me Dear’ (1931). Lyrics by Dorothy Dick, music by Bert Reisfeld, Mart Fryberg & Rolf Marbet.

  PROLOGUE

  Guardian, Film Section, Friday 19 June 2009

  ‘DON’T CALL ME DADDY’S GIRL’

  This has been Annalise Palatine’s year. With a BAFTA under her belt for the runaway success of Popular Delusions and a boyfriend fronting one of Britain’s most happening bands, Palatine is now setting off for France to shoot a big-budget, historical romance opposite Hollywood megastar Harry Emerson. Dom Zachary interrupted her packing to hear about beer, the merits of streetwalking and why she rejects comparisons to her late father.

  Beautiful actresses aren’t supposed to be seen in pubs. Usually, they grant interviews in boutique West End hotels, surrounded by minions and freshly cut flowers. However, on the phone, Annalise Palatine – not some press secretary, mind you, but Palatine herself – suggests a rendezvous at The Trafalgar, a quiet pub on the Thames near her current home in Greenwich. Like Kate Winslet and Keira Knightley before her, one can’t help feeling that this up-and-coming 24-year-old will soon be the toast of Tinseltown. Yet here we are, meeting in a good old English boozer.

  I fully expect Palatine to arrive the standard half-an-hour late, but, again, she doesn’t play the glam-actress game. She walks in bang on time, wearing a red raincoat, a black polo neck and jeans. No minders, no PA, no spoiled toy dog, not even a ludicrously expensive handbag – none of the trappings you might expect from Britain’s hottest female acting talent. It’s just her, me, the river and a none-too-busy barmaid.

  Palatine could be any young woman off the street – except that she couldn’t, because as the cinema-going public knows, few women are blessed with her looks. She wears her brown hair longer than she did in Popular Delusions, but the eyes have it. They are silver-grey and, even more so than on screen, somehow belie her 24 years. You get the feeling they’ve seen a lot. She thinks before she speaks, yet showbiz is in her blood; her father was the legendary comic genius David Palatine, and her mother, Gabriela Ferrer, was a model in the 1970s.

  There’s something about Palatine that makes you want to confide your darkest secrets then sweep her off to Paris to get married at the top of the Eiffel Tower. But you know if you suggested such a crazy thing, she would just treat you to a modest, lopsided smile and order another pint of London Pride from the none-too-busy barmaid.

  Guardian: Real ale? Not many young women drink real ale.

  Palatine: Well they should. It tastes nice and it’s much better for you than wine or spirits – they don’t agree with me, so I never touch them.

  Guardian: What does your personal trainer say about you drinking ale?

  Palatine: Nothing, because I don’t have one.

  Guardian: Yet you seem in great shape.

  Palatine: I wouldn’t say that. I eat what I want, but I also take long walks. If you use your feet, you need never be bored or unhealthy in London.

  Guardian: Do people not recognise you?

  Palatine: Sometimes, but a little politeness goes a long way.

  Guardian: It sounds the opposite of your father’s lifestyle – the yachts, the parties and fast cars.

  Palatine: Perhaps because I saw what that did for him.

  Guardian: But it must have helped your career, being David Palatine’s daughter.

  Palatine: I hate the way people assume that, but my father died nearly two years before I landed my first television part. He didn’t encourage me into the industry and, if anythi
ng, producers were cagey about me at the start, because of his difficult reputation. In fact, I owe everything to my acting coach, the late Sylvia Jardyce, who was a wonderful woman. Not my father.

  Guardian: Still, it’s a long way from playing Daisy Logan in Crawford Square to starring with Harry Emerson in an $80m epic.

  Palatine: I’ve been lucky; the right parts have come at the right time, and some of that is circumstance.

  Guardian: But you make your own luck, too.

  Palatine: I’ve worked hard, if that’s what you mean – if you’re serious about acting, you really have to. When I play a part, I am that part, for as long as it takes. By the time a production finishes, I’m usually too knackered to do anything else except flop around the house and hope that my agent sends me something good to read.

  Guardian: And drink beer and go walking?

  Palatine: (laughs) Exactly. I don’t know how anyone has the time to hang around the Groucho or the Ivy. If I bother to go out, there’s plenty of nice restaurants here in Greenwich. I think people should support their local neighbourhood.

  Guardian: Your adopted neighbourhood – didn’t you grow up in Ireland?

  Palatine: My mother was East London Italian, my father was North London Jewish, I was born in France and raised in Ireland … so what does that make me? Franglo-Irish?

  Guardian: Is it true that you were born at the Cannes Film Festival?

  Palatine: Yes. My mother was there with my father while he promoted one of his films and I arrived prematurely. He didn’t win anything, but I still have some old newspaper clippings where he said I was better than any prize because I generated more publicity. He moved us to Ireland when I was three – for tax reasons, I think.

  Guardian: You said that you ‘become’ a part – you follow the Method?

  Palatine: Yes and no. Sylvia didn’t adhere to any particular school of acting, but, under her tuition, I found that the best way into a part is to convince myself it is real. I like physical cues, but it’s mainly a leap of the imagination.

  Guardian: That must have been fun when you started out as Daisy Logan – she was so devious and scheming.

  Palatine: How do you know I’m not devious and scheming in real life? (laughs) Daisy was a great role for any 18-year-old, because that’s how you feel at that age – driven, ambitious, like you’d do anything to get your own way. But the audience loves a good baddy and she worked wonders for me at the time. I was still quite down after my father’s death – Daisy helped me to come out fighting.

  Guardian: Did you not risk being cast to type?

  Palatine: Maybe, but the baddy always comes to a sticky end and I knew that Daisy Logan would have a limited life-span on Crawford Square. So I put everything I had into being her, but I do that with every part I play – I did it with Peggy Lambridge in One of Us; with Emily Dickinson in the stage version of Emily; Joanna Hiffernan in La Belle Joanna and with Deirdre Orr in Popular Delusions. Everything I do, I have to leave myself behind and become that other person, otherwise it doesn’t work.

  Guardian: Has it ever not worked?

  Palatine: That’s for the audience to judge, not me.

  Guardian: I meant, have you ever played a part where you haven’t felt totally immersed?

  Palatine: No, and I would hate that, but I have a pretty powerful imagination, so it hasn’t happened yet.

  Guardian: How come you never accept advertising contracts or photo-shoot offers from the glossies? Rumour has it that you’ve turned down several fashion houses since you won the Bafta.

  Palatine: An actress should act, a model should model and a celebrity should… well, go be a celebrity, I suppose. I’m sorry if that sounds pious, but it’s the way I see things.

  Guardian: Again, because of your father?

  Palatine: Perhaps.

  Guardian: Yet here you are, about to star opposite one of the most powerful players in Hollywood. This is your move into the big time.

  Palatine: In the past six years, I’ve made five films, two television series and appeared in four stage plays. It’s been bloody hard work, but I’ve learned a lot, so as far as The Perfect Heresy is concerned, it’s not just about starring with Harry Emerson, it’s about playing another part that I hope to learn from. Harry is a producer on the film, so when the call came through from his company, my agent dealt with it as he deals with anything else – What’s the part? Can we see the script? But I was very flattered to have been asked and I’m really looking forward to working with Harry.

  Guardian: None of his recent films have been box-office smashes, like his stuff in the 1990s. Some say his star is fading.

  Palatine: Working for the Guardian, you ought to know that commercial success and critical acclaim don’t always go hand-in-hand.

  Guardian: Surely the key is to strive for both.

  Palatine: For me as an actress, the key is to find good scripts that offer challenging parts. You don’t learn from doing easy stuff. Look at Helen Mirren; she could have rested on her laurels years ago, but, each time, she steps out and does it better than the last. I wish I were blessed with just a tenth of her talent, but The Perfect Heresy is a good script and I think that playing a twelfth-century French priestess will definitely be a challenge, no matter who I’m playing opposite.

  Guardian: Did they have priestesses in twelfth-century France?

  Palatine: My character is a Cathar and her people are being wiped out by the crusaders. The Cathars didn’t have priestesses exactly, they were more like community leaders, but equal to their menfolk, which, of course, doesn’t happen now and was an incredible concept in medieval times. I’ve been reading everything I can about the Cathars; they believed that life on earth is hell and that you had to die pure for the soul to be set free, otherwise you’d be reincarnated here in hell again. So the popes denounced them as heretics and had them all killed.

  Guardian: Sounds gory.

  Palatine: Oh, there’s plenty of action – Emerson is a crusader who falls in love with me and tries to save me from the stake. My dilemma is that I want to die pure, but I’m tempted by him. All this against a background of siege and butchery; I’m told there’s a huge cast of extras.

  Guardian: There’ll be a lot of pressure on this film to recoup its budget, but there’ve been quite a few sword-and-sandals flops lately, like Stone’s Alexander or Ridley Scott’s Kingdom of Heaven.

  Palatine: I’m not worried about that, but since you mention Scott, I recently read an interview with Darryl Hannah, whom he cast in Blade Runner. She said the reason she made movies was that she wanted to live in another reality. I understood exactly what she meant.

  Guardian: And it doesn’t bother you that Emerson has reportedly sacked a director already?

  Palatine: It’s not unusual for different names to be attached to a project before it gets off the ground. That happened before I was signed, so in a way it’s none of my business. But I’m more than happy with Peter Tress – I thought his film about Edvard Munch very beautiful, breathtakingly shot, and I hear he’s using the same cinematographer, Sergio Palmiro, for The Perfect Heresy. So I’m very much looking forward to working with them, too. I just hope I’m up to the challenge.

  Speaking of challenges, Palatine’s relationship with Jimmy Lockhart, the lead singer of Lone Blue Planet, has been a constant source of speculation for the tabloid press. How will the separation caused by filming in France and Lockhart’s extended British tour affect the Gwyneth Paltrow and Chris Martin of 2009? But Palatine politely declines to discuss the subject and, with a final flash of those silver eyes, she’s away, leaving the Guardian to ponder the inescapable conclusion that, no matter how much she protests, here we have a star who’s on the point of going supernova. We’ll keep a very close eye on Palatine’s progress.

  1

  Roselaine de Trenceval hitched her skirt and forced her tired legs to climb the last few steps up the cliff path. Her dress was torn and her hair wild about her shoulders from her flight
through the forest. Just ahead, Bernard de Vaux hacked at the undergrowth with his sword, his tunic stained with sweat.

  ‘This way, lady! We must reach your father’s castle before de Montfort’s army arrives! We must warn him of the fate awaiting all who resist!’ He extended his free hand to help her, but she proudly stepped past him, holding her skirt.

  ‘I thank you, Sir, but I can look after myself. And I think you’ll find my father more than capable of resisting.’ Bernard smiled, sheathing his sword as she mounted the ridge.

  She stopped abruptly. ‘Oh…’

  He scrambled up to join her.

  Before them on the wide hilltop, a great honey-coloured castle rose into the sky. Its ramparts were thick with men, shooting arrows and throwing stones down upon the army that heaved around its walls. Swords flashed and pennants flapped; mounted knights urged hundreds of yelling foot-soldiers forward, some carrying ladders, others launching arrows upward in reply. Roselaine watched in horror as first one and then several of the castle defenders clutched their chests and tumbled into the maelstrom below. Then, off to their left, a fearsome wooden catapult launched a boulder which sailed through the air and, in an explosion of noise and dust, destroyed a section of wall. A lusty roar arose from the attacking hordes. Roselaine sank to her knees and seized fistfuls of dirt.

  Bernard turned his back to her, scratching his head.

  ‘Peter!’ he called. ‘Hey, Peter! I think it would be better if she threw herself at me insteada fallin’ down like that! Peter? Can ya hear me? Get over here!’

  ‘No! I don’t believe it! What is he doing? I nearly had it! It was so beautiful!’

  An aluminium basket hung in the trees. A chubby, brown-skinned man pulled his face from the viewfinder of the enormous camera. Another taller man perched on the basket rail. He wore his long, blond hair tied in a ponytail. He looked tired.

  ‘What is he doing?’ the chubby man repeated, in a Spanish-accented shriek. ‘We lose the entire shot! All he had to do was kneel beside her and let me focus on the castillo again! I nearly had it! Why do he not kneel?’